


Nothing.

by Calleo



Series: Magical Theory [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Curses, Destruction, Gen, Magic, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Weapons of Mass Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleo/pseuds/Calleo
Summary: A followup to Neutralising die Zerstörung.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Magical Theory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010046
Kudos: 1





	Nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written between myself and the person who writes Director Yandle on Discord.
> 
> Unfortunately, Director Yandle's writer does not have an account here, but I have full permission to post it.
> 
> You can see their RP blog at https://directoryandle.tumblr.com

##  _ There had been six flower beds and four trees. _

##  Director Yandle had noticed, when he stopped into Calleo’s office to tell him they were going to go and [prove what he’d detailed](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fvogelchen.com%2Fpost%2F186238142058%2Foh-im-going-to-you-how-do-you-figure-something&t=MGFjOWVmODk5ZTkzZDBlMGViOTk4NWMwNjY5MzY2Yjk0N2NjN2M1NCxoTDNtZ3Mzdw%3D%3D&b=t%3ADQCwOm9izbFrPZ3khNgdSQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fdirectoryandle.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F186311097151%2Fthere-had-been-six-flower-beds-and-four-trees&m=0&ts=1604895524), that Calleo didn’t seem the _slightest_ bit excited to do so.

In fact, up until the Director had all but _ordered_ him to stop stalling and get on with it, Calleo had protested in great detail as to why it wasn’t necessary, why it shouldn’t be done, why the Director would regret every part of this afternoon. That last one was new; he couldn’t recall Calleo _ever_ telling him that _he’d_ regret something.

He had assumed his Senior Archivist was, as he often was, being a touch over dramatic about it or was, in fact, stalling to try and cover the fact that he wouldn’t be able to replicate what he had previously stated he could “easily replicate”.

Calleo had somehow, _somehow_ , in a way the Director couldn’t wrap his head around after it was done, gone through all four described methods while detailing in the most alarmingly detached way what he was casting while he was casting it.

Three on the ground, one directly in front of him, the other two he moved to step between them; one in front, one behind.

The other three also on the ground, gone in the same pattern, and including the overhanging trees to demonstrate the upward movement that was possible.

_Those_ were the most terrifying to witness; the _Fiendfyre_ was, in every instance, functionally useless. _It had nothing to burn._ Anything it might have burned was already gone by the time the fire swept the area. Something about seeing the flaming shapes of what had _been_ present–that was what took an otherwise already horrifying scene and made it deeply scarring.

Nothing is difficult to visualise. Fire is not.

This combination of magic had been purposely designed to make sure _anyone_ surviving it wouldn’t be able to blot it out from memory.

A _Fiendfyre_ is loud in a staggering way, moreso than an ordinary fire, even when used over small areas. It’s a type of fire that less announces its destruction so much as it screams it.

But it was the silence that rang loudest of all. _Nihilius_ left a seething, cold, silence where it touched that not even a _Fiendfyre_ could mask or wipe away. The Director had, of course, read about it in numerous texts but had never witnessed it and had never been present when _Nihilus’_ presence was still fresh.

And _this?_

This… _this was insignificant._ A few dozen plants gone, nothing that should have caused _any_ sort of impact at all, their– _not death_ , something much worse, much more permanent–it had been quick, nearly instant. If they could feel at all they wouldn’t have known. _They couldn’t have._

That was, at least, what the Director kept mentally repeating to himself as he slowly stood, looking between the area that had, seconds before, held six vibrant flower beds, up to where the trees–they weren’t there _now_ , nothing was, save for a pile of what looked like silvery, shimmering ash on the ground that could be touched but not touched at the same time–had been, and _finally_ , almost reluctantly back to Calleo.

Despite the creeping, awful terror that more loudly countered that _they had known_ , if only for an instant, he could only _try_ to drown it out. It didn’t matter now, of course, _they were gone._ Not dead, gone, completely erased from all existence, past, present, and future.

And this instance had only happened to _plants._

The Director had found it silly, almost to a childish degree, that Calleo had so meticulously gone over the area, ensuring that any wildlife present had been relocated to another area of the garden. By the time the first bed had gone, he _fully_ understood why. He had also come to the stark realisation as to why it could never have been possible to stop it the way it was used as a weapon; speed and reaction time were simply not relevant. It was stunning in the _worst_ possible way and he had, after the first flower bed was consumed, wanted to tell his subordinate that that was _enough, the point was proven_ yet–he hadn’t. Seeing it at all had been enough to freeze him completely.

And he was just standing there, looking almost _bored!_

“ _You have no idea_ ,” the Director began and stopped to more fully compose himself. Fear often came across as anger and, despite his best efforts, the Director could not erase either, “how grateful I will _always_ be that you are as young as you are and how _completely and utterly terrifying_ it is that you hold _any_ level of sway over what’s left of _those people_.”

In truth, the Director wasn’t certain _what_ kind of response he’d expected out of Calleo. He couldn’t have even explained why he said what he did considering he’d been the one that required proof in the first place; what had just happened, in this instance, wasn’t illegal or even _questionably_ legal, and that may have been the only reason Calleo had agreed to do it in the first place.

_Seeing it so **effortlessly** done, though…_

Whatever it was that the Director might have expected, it was not the mingled expression of confusion and disbelief (brief as it was).

Even _less_ expected was the fact that Calleo either didn’t or couldn’t hide it in his voice; the impact of the words alone being enough to cause the Director to step back as though he’d been physically hit.

“You really think so **little** of me?”

Calleo hadn’t given him a chance to respond before moving on to a short, “See you at work,” followed by disapparating; it was just as well, as the Director wasn’t at all certain how he’d have answered that question anyway.

The silence might have been preferable.

There had been six flower beds and four trees.


End file.
